


Reach Out & Touch Faith

by tokyonightskies



Category: One Piece
Genre: Anal Sex, Incest, Lapdance, M/M, Rocinante - Corazon duality, Sibling Incest, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 17:48:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3777832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokyonightskies/pseuds/tokyonightskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sit, Corazon.” Doflamingo orders, gesturing at the chair by his desk. He’s wearing his new suit, only the dress shoes and his socks are missing. His slender ankles are hidden, but his feet are bare and slightly suntanned.</p>
<p>Taking a seat and leaning backwards - but not too far or he’ll fall down to the floor; Corazon crosses one leg over the other and places his hands carefully in his lap. He knows by the sensual spring in his captain’s step that he’s supposed to admire the handsomeness and craftsmanship of the suit. How the suit vest clings to his shoulders and accentuates the sharpness of his waist. Corazon steals with his eyes: the rhythm of his captain’s hips as they swing from right to left to right again, the movement of his hands and willowy fingers as they unbutton the first few buttons of his black shirt, the prowling nature of his stride - closer and closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reach Out & Touch Faith

**Author's Note:**

> (alternatively titled: reach out and touch me.)
> 
> dedicated to corazosan (@tumblr), who gave me permission to post this train wreck. and gave me an excuse to browse the lap dance tag. dedicated to nsfwvoiceonthesea (@tumblr), whose headcanons and art i relate to on a spiritual level.

.

(His older brother poses handsomely for the mirror in his new suit. The salesclerk is cowering in the corner of the shop with Diamante’s pistol pressed to her temple. Her bottom lip shakes uncontrollably and her fat tears stream down the curve of her flushed cheeks. It’s difficult to keep watching and the sight makes his stomach twist and turn. So to distract himself, Rocinante fumbles to light a cigarette. Trebol has the knob of his cane trailing over the tailor’s spine, dangerously and coquettishly. He spills his ugly laughter over the poor man’s shoulder as he finishes adjusting the pant leg with trembling fingers. 

“I finished it, sir. Please let us go now, please..” He rasps in barely contained fright. Trebol gazes at his protégé’s reflection.

Doflamingo pulls at the vest, stretches his arms to see where the sleeves end, bends his knees and turns around to look at the back. He gives the tailor a wide grin and pushes down his shades to show him his eyes.

He pats his breast pocket and orders, “Trebol, give him the payment for a job well done, mmmh. Won’t you?” Soon enough he’s focused on his reflection again, tugging on the golden cufflinks.

Diamante snickers when his fellow executive places the knob of his cane to the side of the tailor’s head and the touch seems almost tender to the untrained eye. Rocinante knows  _better_. The salesclerk starts wailing loudly, with her chest heaving heavily as if she can’t catch a breath. All it takes is one fast swing and a sickening crunch to finish the poor man off. He slumps to the ground sideways, staring dully at the opposite wall as blood seeps from the bludgeoned side of his skull. His one arm is stretched in front of him, his pale wrinkly hand still holding on to his sewing supplies.

“What do you think, Corazon?” Doflamingo asks as he fixes the silk pink tie casually, looking at the man seated on the counter from in the mirror.

The salesclerk is still crying, pleading incoherently for mercy and  _god_  and help in between sobs and sniffles. As if god would willingly place himself in the room with a pair of devils. What a cruel joke. Diamante delivers the punchline by knocking her over the head with his gun. She falls to the floor with a smack, face-first and Diamante steps over her without any decorum. The butt of his revolver is gleaming with fresh blood. Must’ve been a pretty hard blow, then.

Doflamingo raises an inquisitive eyebrow when Corazon takes a long drag from his cigarette shrouded in black feathers, scented of brimstone, and his unruly blond hair.

Smoke comes from his pursed lips and as he exhales, does he bring the full weight of his gaze onto his captain’s tall and slender frame. He squints and smiles sweetly, a twitch of the corners of his mouth, enlarged by his lipstick. And then he gives a confirming nod, not noticing how he accidentally put the sleeve of his feather coat to the flames.)

“Sit, Corazon.” Doflamingo orders, gesturing at the chair by his desk. He’s wearing his new suit, only the dress shoes and his socks are missing. His slender ankles are hidden, but his feet are bare and slightly suntanned.

Taking a seat and leaning backwards - but not too far or he’ll fall down to the floor; Corazon crosses one leg over the other and places his hands carefully in his lap. He knows by the sensual spring in his captain’s step that he’s supposed to admire the handsomeness and craftsmanship of the suit. How the suit vest clings to his shoulders and accentuates the sharpness of his waist. Corazon steals with his eyes: the rhythm of his captain’s hips as they swing from right to left to right again, the movement of his hands and willowy fingers as they unbutton the first few buttons of his black shirt, the prowling nature of his stride -  _closer and closer_.

“Legs.” He reprimands playfully, bumping into Corazon’s knee, still moving as he stands still in front of him.

With a curt  _clack_ , his feet are pressed together. He straightens his posture, dips forwards in anticipation as Doffy turns his back to him, canting his hips forwards and backwards to an inaudible beat. Corazon spreads his legs a bit to accommodate him between them and refrains from touching his captain, from grabbing onto those hips and pressing him flush against him, onto his lap. Doflamingo sinks down and seats himself, rolling his ass against him and arching his back. This is how he knows that Doffy wants to be worshipped, wants to be adored and adorned with his affection. His palm press into Doffy’s upper legs as he bucks upwards to follow the other’s movements. 

 His hands slip underneath the vest, trail over Doffy’s sides and over his ribs, curve over his chest to touch the exposed skin stretched over his sternum. Corazon bites his bottom lip as he bounces on his lap, never stopping to  _sit still_. Doflamingo arches into him, twists an arm around his head and pushes the button of his nose to his jaw. They stare at each other and the tension is so  _thick_  and uncomfortable. 

 He only has to whisper  _corazon_  and he has those hands slipping downwards again, reaching for the buckle of his belt and fumbling to undress him. His hips thrust forwards, sharply, and the hint has been dropped mercilessly. There are terms and conditions,  _obey._

Corazon always aims to please so he digs his fingers into the material of his pants, rocks against his captain’s ass in a plea his voice cannot offer.  _please please please._

Doflamingo chuckles as he elegantly stands again and turns around. He brackets his younger brother’s legs between his own and slides his pelvis up against him. He tilts his head backwards and exposes his throat. Corazon stares up at him hungrily and surges forwards to kiss his adam’s apple, leaving lipstick in his lips’ wake. 

Gasping, Doffy swerves against him harder and faster, before cradling his brother’s jaw and bringing his own mouth down in an unforgiving kiss. With one command, one conditioned touch, he can have his precious little brother on his bed, ready to fuck. First, he needs to get out of this suit, first he needs  _air_  and he tugs back, fingers full of unruly blond hair – and the fools’ cap fallen to the floor, hearts spread flatly. Corazon follows his mouth with his own, but their lips don’t touch, just stay so impossibly close, and he feels those hands kneading his ass and his brother’s erection against his thigh and  _fuck_  everything is too hot. 

“Rocinante…” He murmurs slowly, as if every syllable has to be cherished by his tongue. 

It gives him satisfaction to get this reaction: his precious little brother pushing him forwards by his ass, trying to imprint his fingertips onto his skin through the layers of clothing; his precious little brother baring his teeth, rimmed by darkened red lips and mauve gums before nipping at his chin, at his neck; his precious little brother leaving more than just lipstick marks, leaving the indent of his teeth, leaving the swirl of his tongue, leaving  _love bites_ wherever he can in his needy haste. 

 But what Doffy wants right now is a good  _fuck_. So he thrusts his hips against him sharply and hisses, “Bed, Rocinante. Now.” 

Doffy isn’t a patient man but his brother has such an awful track record at undressing that he does it for him. He unties the laces of his shoes, pulls off his socks (trails the tip of his index finger ever so slowly over the heel), unbuttons his heart-splattered shirt (peppers kisses over the soft dusting of blond hair around his navel and down to the elastic of his boxers), unzips his pants and helps pull them down (nails raking pretty stripes over the side of his legs). And Rocinante only wiggles about in the chair, eyes closed and movements pained. But Doffy isn’t a kind man either so he doesn’t refrain from sweeping the flat of his tongue over the bulge in his boxers. 

they have a word for this and it's  ** _cocktease_**  and corazon can’t say it but he  _means it_  when he grabs his captain by the hair and pushes his face to his cock again. 

The mattress feels firm under his back and he’s thankful because his insides are churned and his heart feels weightless. Doflamingo doesn’t fumble with his clothing in a stumble to get undressed, he only stares pointedly at how his little brother pumps his own cock as he takes off his tie and places it on the dresser. 

“Look at you.” He purrs in wicked delight as he unbuckles his belt, pulls it swiftly from the loops of his pants, “So eager to fuck me, aren’t you? Fufufu, my precious Corazon." 

He grins at Doffy’s words, bucking up in his own hand and rubbing down on the slit of his cock with his thumb. His tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, watering down the dark color. Doflamingo pulls down his pants and approaches the bed in his sensual strut, settles down on his knees over him and brings his face down to his brother’s cock. 

(and saliva bubbles between his long lips and he spits on his dick and on his hand, slicking them up. corazon gives a silent moan, face screwed up in need.)

His hand darts out and presses flat against his brother’s throat, as if he wants to throttle him for bucking close, for  _presuming Doffy would take him in his mouth just like that_ , but he doesn’t coax the air from his open mouth; no instead he moves quickly to kiss him on the chest, on his abdomen, on his cockhead. Corazon keeps writhing in his spot, so far gone and feebly grabbling at his outstretched arm; but his eyes are trained on him and him alone. With his clock-sprung lashes and his wordless pretty pleading. If there’s no voice to  _voice_ what he needs, every action is twice as important. And Corazon’s body is certainly vocal enough.

Doffy smiles, but there’s nothing soft about the edges of his mouth, about the tip of his tongue. 

-Takes his cock into his mouth, tastes the salty precum, smears it open on his palate, hollows his cheeks and sucks, slicks, wets – almost chokes on his precious little brother’s cock when he thrusts up to get deeper into the wet heat and he pushes him back down by his hips, because if he’s going to deepthroat him, it’s going to be by his  _own_ volition and not in Corazon’s haphazard and desperate scramble for release. His pretty brother sighs and pants and tilts his head back when he takes him  _deep_  and his gag reflex almost kicks in but he’s quick to let go of his cock with only a thin pearly trail of saliva connecting them. 

 His lips are glinstering, bee-stung and Corazon’s toes curl into the sheets as he stretches his legs and tries to catch his breath. Eyecontact  _doesn’t **break**. _

_“_ What do you want, little brother?” 

_you.you.you._ **fuck. doffy shut the fuck up and ride me, ride me ride me _com’on._ please. **Rocinante feels his stomach drop, as if a fist came crushing down, as if Doflamingo tramples down on his insides and – he doesn’t want to hear him talk.  ** _shut up and let me fuck you,_** _please let me fuck you good and slow and fast and_ **i need** _you._

 What does he want? He wants to hear him  _moan_. 

 (scream, plead for  _more_ , beg with his captain’s voice for his brother’s cock. groan. whimper.)

 When Doffy sinks down on his dick, everything blocks out. His heartbeat is the only sound between his ears. Thumping to an erratic tempo, hammering away like a sledgehammer against his ribs. He wants to reach for his brother, wherever he can touch but invisible strings hold his wrists pinned down to the sheets in warning. He swallows down a curse he couldn’t utter anyway and only bucks up restlessly. His feet almost slide off the mattress. Senses are going in overdrive as Doflamingo bounces up and down his cock. His brother’s hands tease him by  _not touching him_  but touching himself, sliding down his chest and over his ribs and settling on his own sharp and beautiful hip bones. Fingers curved, fingers curled (around his cock) and fingers stroke (up and down,  _up and down_  as he grinds on Roci’s cock).

Rocinante shakes his head violently because this. is. too. much. Those strings almost slice through his skin but ease up enough to avoid doing too much damage. He’s only bleeding a little. Everything smells wrong. Cuppery and like sweat and musk and sex. Doflamingo takes him inside of him completely, balls-deep and he’s gasping, grasping for something, anything. 

“Good.. Yes, like that..” He croaks as he rotates his hips, stroking himself faster. His eyelids slide open and he’s staring down at his precious little brother again, half-lidded and half-undone. 

When Doffy spills over his own hand, still riding him but slowly, sloppily: the strings loosen from around his wrists and Rocinante wastes no time in gripping his brother’s ass and holding him up, fucking into him almost brutally. In a fast-paced search for his own release. And his heartbeat gets replaced by the sound of flesh-on-flesh, slapping softly, surely. His fringe is plastered to his forehead and it annoys him but  _fuck_  his toes are curling and his balls clench and he’s cumming while his brother chuckles at his efforts, pleased and warm and  _willing_.

“Clean up, Corazon.” He commands leisurely when he’s propped against the headboard with his legs spread. Sweat glimmering in the hollow of his collar bones.

And complacently, Corazon crawls in between those gorgeous long crooked legs and hooks his arms around his brother’s thighs to gain some better access, nose pressed against his brother’s balls as he curls his tongue inside of him and messily starts to lap his own mess up. 

(Rocinante brushes his teeth vigorously, afraid he’ll throw up again like he did the first few times. Fear stuffs him, chokes him from the inside out. He spits and the reddish tinge to the white toothpaste doesn’t go unnoticed. One grimace reveals his bleeding gums. His thoughts are a scramble, disoriented in their different directions. He makes a grab for the plastic tumbler but accidentally knocks it over. Water spills all over the floor, over his toes. Clacking his tongue in anger, does he bend over to pick up the tumbler.

Something forces its way through his throat and he stumbles upright again, retching and coughing, almost throwing up in the sink. Nothing comes out and he wipes his mouth with a washing cloth. The taste of his toothpaste lingers in his mouth, strong and minty. 

Rocinante is afraid, afraid his brother will want another go and force these conflicting feelings through him again. He’s  _so angry_ , at himself, at Doffy, at the same blood that runs through their veins. Who cares if their blood might be blue, what matters is that it’s cut from the same cloth. He’s  _so angry_ because he wants his brother to be sane again so badly, wants himself to be sane again so badly. _wants his brother, wants his brother, **wants him so badly.**_

“Cora-san! Dinner’s ready!” Baby 5 yells loudly from inside his bedroom. 

He opens the cabinet above the sink and grabs his makeup.

 Corazon doesn’t regret pleasing his captain, serving his captain  _fucking his captain_. For a while things will grow ever-quiet again in his head.

 It’ll have to be enough to get through the day.)


End file.
